


How to Disturb Your Child 101 v.1

by lemoncannon (renioferebor)



Series: The never-ending embarrassment of the Durin line [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Funny, Hrera is a cruel dwarrowdam, On the Importance of locking your door, Thráin really didn't need to know this much about his parents, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renioferebor/pseuds/lemoncannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“’Adad, I…” The voice trailed off in a squawk, followed by a loud crash.<br/>Thrór froze and felt Hrera tense in his arms. With a resigned sigh he straightened his back and turned to look. His forty-year-old son was standing in the doorway, gaping at them with a horrified expression on his face. </p>
<p>(Thráin learns the hard way one should always knock.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Disturb Your Child 101 v.1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> Hrera's character belongs to the amazing determamfidd, I am merely borrowing her with permission.  
> This fic was inspired by an idea of godihatethisfreakingcat.
> 
> This is the result of me wanting to write something light-hearted and silly, hope you enjoy!

“I am done with this”, Thrór said moodily, pushing a blank parchment away in disgust.  
“You cannot ignore him forever”, Hrera said calmly, not even looking up from her own work. Her desk was carefully organized into neat stacks of paper, while Thrór’s own was a mess of books, papers and maps in haphazard piles. Not a single day went by without Hrera giving it at least one disgusted look.  
“I’m the king”, Thrór said. He plucked the crown from his head and rubbed his temples with a tired groan. “I should be allowed to ignore people if I want to.”  
“Well, you could”, Hrera said calmly. “But Thranduil would not be very happy with it.”  
“I’m not very happy with him either”, Thrór grumbled, leaning back in his chair with a long-suffering sigh. Hrera just gave him a look and continued her own work.

“You’re disgustingly effective, wife”, Thrór sighed, having watched her work for a while. Her mouth twitched a little, as he had hoped. She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. “Do you want to know my secret?”¨  
Thrór lifted his eyebrows in curiosity. “What is it?” he asked, now truly intrigued. He had thought it was simply who she was.  
Hrera put her quill down and stood up, spending a moment straightening her dress before walking over. She stopped behind his chair and settled her hands on his shoulders. Her scent enveloped him as she leaned over his shoulder to read the letter from Thranduil that was the cause of his bad mood.  
“Well”, she murmured, rubbing his shoulders gently, “whenever I get frustrated, I take a moment to think of all the more enjoyable things I can do after I am done…” Her hand moved to stroke his neck gently.  
Thrór swallowed. “I am not sure that will actually help me focus”, he managed.  
“Well”, Hrera hummed thoughtfully into his ear. Thrór bit his cheek to keep from sighing. “I try to think of it as a reward to myself.”  
“A reward?” Thrór repeated hoarsely. Thank Mahal Hrera didn’t seem to be in the mood to tease him about his lack of higher brain functioning right now. Instead she nuzzled his ear gently. Thrór hummed in pleasure and turned his head – only to have his wife back away.

“A reward, not a gift”, Hrera said with a serene smile, backing away to her own desk. “Which means you actually need to complete your work, husband.”  
Thrór groaned and pulled a blank parchment in front of him, picking up his quill. He knew his wife well enough to know when it was futile to argue.

After a few minutes he was distracted again by Hrera leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.  
“You are done already?” Thrór asked incredulously, feeling more than slightly desperate.  
“Well, I have not spent half my time complaining about the work I should be doing”, Hrera said with a pointed look. Thrór sighed and glared at his letter, trying to concentrate.

The sound of a drawer sliding open pulled his eyes away from his reply which was becoming more curtly worded by the minute. Hrera had leaned over to rummage through her bottom left drawer – and emerged with an ornate box. She hummed quietly to herself as she opened the box and…  
“Hrera!” Thrór groaned.  
“Rewards, dearest”, Hrera said without even turning to look, and spent a long time choosing a candy before popping it into her mouth. Thrór had to close his eyes for a moment when she licked her lips with a hum of appreciation. “Hrera, please…”

Hrera gave him a knowing look, but clearly had some mercy left in her since she put her hands in her lap. Thrór spent a moment eyeing her warily – he knew his wife – but after a while he returned to his answer again. Where had he been? Right…  
…and while I understand your concern, patrolling the edges of the forest is important to the collective safety… 

Another movement had him looking up. The quill fell from his fingers, spattering droplets of ink on the paper, but he did not even notice.  
His wife was casually placing a candy between her breasts. Thrór stared open-mouthed and couldn’t muster a sound. Hrera arched an eyebrow in his direction. “I thought you didn’t want me to torture you by eating my reward now, darling”, she said. “I’m saving them instead.” She picked up another candy and dropped it after the first one, before carefully adjusting her neckline. Thrór felt his mouth go dry and thought he could actually hear his blood rushing down.  
“You want me to save you a few?” she asked in a polite tone, and Thrór made an inarticulate sound that was somewhere between ‘yes please’ and ‘I’m dying’. He made to move but one arched eyebrow from Hrera was enough to make him slump back with a groan. “Right. Rewards.” He stared at the letter on his table for a long moment. Then, with a deep breath, he sat up, adjusted his trousers with a slight wince, and picked up his quill.  
“Good king”, Hrera praised – and picked up another candy. Thrór covered his eyes with his free hand, breathing out a desperate oath.  
…and that is why I feel I will not change anything, he scribbled out shakily. Good Day. Thrór son of Dáin son of Náin, King Under the Mountain. He threw away the pen and stood up so fast his heavy chair fell over. Thrór did not even glance back. He strode to his wife, caught her by the waist and gently pulled her up, sealing their mouths together.

Hrera buried her hands into his hair, laughing softly into the kiss. “You’ll get our beards tangled”, she said.  
“I do not care”, Thrór breathed. “You are a cruel woman, did you know that?”  
“And you are a procrastinator. See how well you did with some added incentive”, Hrera chuckled, tugging his braids. “I suppose you can have your reward now.”  
“Oh thank Mahal”, Thrór said fervently. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, gently brushing away her intricately braided beard before leaning down to taste the gentle curve of her breast. He brushed his cheek against the soft skin, enjoying his wife’s gasp, before nuzzling his nose between her breasts.

The door banged open. “’Adad, I…” The voice trailed off in a squawk, followed by a loud crash.  
Thrór froze and felt Hrera tense in his arms. With a resigned sigh he straightened his back and turned to look. His forty-year-old son was standing in the doorway, gaping at them with a horrified expression on his face. At his feet, a pool of tea was slowly spreading among the shattered pieces of a once beautifully painted teapot.  
Thrór cleared his throat. “Son”, he greeted.  
“I…” Thráin opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly before shaking his head violently. “No. No no no, no! I am not talking about this, I am… you know what, I did not see a thing.”  
Thrór felt his mouth twitch, his own embarrassment dissipating at his son’s comical expression of appalled denial. He really couldn’t help himself. “A thing? Is that what young people like to call it nowadays?”  
Hrera swatted his arm discreetly, while Thráin made an agonized sound, slapping a hand over his eyes. “’Adad!” he yelled. “Stop, stop, just… I never, ever want to see you again! In my life! Goodbye!” And with that he backed out, almost stumbling over his own feet, and slammed the door shut. 

Thrór stared at the closed door for a long moment. Then he sniggered.  
“Thrór”, Hrera sighed.  
“I know, I know. But did you see his face?” Thrór chortled. “That was hilarious.”  
Hrera shook her head in exasperation. “You can be the one to have a talk with him tomorrow then”, she said. “Right now, however…  
“Yes?”  
“Please lock the door, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> 'adad = father in khuzdul.  
> Thráin is 40 in this fic. Dwarves are considered adult at 70, so I imagined he is mentally around 13 in human years. Poor Thráin!


End file.
